


Sick

by moonmayhem



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Established Relationship, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Possessive Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmayhem/pseuds/moonmayhem
Summary: You and Issei have been dating since high school. Things used to be great; he was caring, loving, and so fun to be with. Now, something’s changed, and he’s not the Issei you once knew.
Relationships: Matsukawa Issei/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to note that there is moment where reader wishes for Issei to put his hands on her violently just to feel something from him. I wanted to warn about that even if it never occurs.

You hurt quietly; held tightly together behind a carefully crafted smile. Twisting the key on your back that pulls you up right and pushes you along until it is necessary to be wound up again.

You try — _God_ , do you try to make everything seem like it’s okay because it’s easier that way. It’s easier when no one asks stupid questions about how you’re doing, because it’s difficult to respond when you don’t know the answer. It’s nice if they always assume you’re fine because you _are_ fine. You are. Until they bring Issei up.

“Mattsun hasn’t stopped watching us since you came over here.” Oikawa bumps your shoulder, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible while he looks at his old teammate over his drink. “Are you still fighting with him?”

“We’re not fighting, Tooru, Issei doesn’t fight with me.” You take a long drink. “That’s the problem.”

Oikawa places a hand on your head, lightly ruffling your hair until you bat it away to fix the small mess he makes. “You just like too much drama!”

“That’s,” you glance over at Issei having a conversation with Makki, who is shifting his eyes over to you, trying not to be obvious but utterly failing, “that’s not it, you know that.”

Looking back at your best friend, there is a sharp look in his eyes that always makes you freeze up under their gaze. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The way your eyes glance around at the people attending the party tells Oikawa that the environment isn’t one you’re comfortable discussing your relationship woes in. He takes the time to look at a random room whose door is ajar, before he’s grabbing your hand and pulling you towards it.

Thankfully, it’s unoccupied, but the bed is messed up. Showing someone had been using it earlier. You wrinkle your nose up at the idea of fucking in a stranger’s bed. It makes your skin crawl.

He pulls you down to the floor and sits in front of you with his legs crossed. You mirror him.

“Spill it before he comes in here being nosy.”

You blink owlishly at him, slowly getting your bearings. “He won’t come looking.”

Tooru scoffs and urges you to speak.

“He acts like nothing ever bothers him. His nonchalance makes me feel like I could walk out the door one day and he wouldn’t be bothered.”

_Once the dam cracks, the water trickles out of the fractures._

“The other day, I had told him this coworker kept bugging me. It was gross and indecent. He tried to touch me at one point. I ended up taking care of it, but Issei didn’t even look up from his phone, and that made me more uncomfortable.”

Tooru grabs your hand, worried about the pinched expression that takes over your features.

“You know what he said?”

“What?”

You grunt.

“Huh?”

You did it again. “That, Tooru. He grunted at me. I was telling him about an uncomfortable situation at work, hoping he would offer comfort. But he just sat there.” There was heat behind your eyes and pressure in your throat, but you forced them both away. Admitting this to your best friend was enough vulnerability. You didn’t need to cry. “I don’t think he gives a shit about me.”

To distract you from the ache in your chest, Tooru traces shapes, letters, and numbers into the skin of your forearms and palms.

“Keep going,” he says, “say everything you’ve been holding in.”

_The pieces from the dam fall apart under the pressure, and the water rushes out towards freedom._

“When I tried to argue with him, demanding reasons for his apathy, he _laughed_ at me. He told me I was _‘kinda cute’_ when I’m angry, which pissed me off further. He doesn’t pay attention. I just want him to act like he cares. That I’m not just another... I don’t know, another body he touches at night.”

There is the distinct sound of a door opening and closing. But you are too caught up in your waterfall of words for it to register.

“I want to fight with him. I want him to scream at me. I-I want him to put his hands on me.” Oikawa’s movements on your skin stutter at that, but continue on. “I want _violence_. Anything that shows he gives even an iota of a shit about me. And-and I know it’s sick! I know that. I do, but I’m desperate at this point. I don’t know what to do.”

There’s another voice that comes from the other corner of the room and you jump at its sound.

“You’re not sick.”

Wide eyes stare back at Tooru, and he squeezes your forearm. “It’s okay, it’s just Iwa.”

Turning your head towards him, your shoulders relax in relief. “I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I heard you but I couldn’t tell who-,”

“Don’t apologize, I should've announced myself earlier.” He steps out of the dim lighting and sits himself next to you. “I’m going to be honest, and I say this with your best interests at heart—dump him.”

“Iwa-,”

He cuts you off again with his hand held up. “I know you love him and I know you want everything to work out, but if you have to beg for his attention or crave something akin to domestic violence, then you shouldn’t be with him.”

Looking to Oikawa for support is futile, the sad smile on his face means that he feels the same. It was two to one, and the people you trusted the most would not lie by telling you what you wanted to hear.

“I know. It’s-that’s not really what I want, but he’s changed. Everything was fine, _we_ were fine, and then things shifted out of nowhere.”

You remember the day you noticed things turn with Issei. It was a memory difficult not to call upon each time he looked at you with distaste rather than his once familiar adoration and lazy smile.

_It was after a night of drinking with the former Seijoh boys. It was fun—Tooru was harassing Iwa in proper fashion, giggling about how you liked him more than his childhood friend as he squished your cheeks across the table. Iwa ended up pinching the hell out of Tooru’s arm just to get him to let go._

_Issei’s arm was secured firmly around your shoulders, tightening every so often, unless one of them tugged you briefly away from him. When that happened, he would chat with Makki, joking about his work as a mortician. Makki quite literally gagged when Issei asked if he wanted to watch an embalming._

_Kindaichi got too drunk and ended up falling asleep on your shoulder. It was a common occurrence that one of them would end up like that. Someone always sought your comfort after drinking too much, they all felt safer and more at ease in your presence._

_Issei had disappeared to the bathroom, but when he came back, it was noticeable that all the mirth that he was exuding previously had evaporated. The intensity in his eyes became grander when he saw Kindaichi leaning on you and Kyōtani trying to drunkenly feed you the food off of his plate._

_The voice in the back of your mind whispers about how you shouldn’t have ever let your high school friends get overly comfortable. How maybe it was your fault that Issei looked at you differently. That, although you all had been friends for years, the scene in front of him may have translated differently to others._

Before you can open your mouth to mention the memory, the door opens and the three of you turn your heads to the new guest.

“Are you three done fucking around yet?” Issei’s tone of voice is harsh and serious. “Don’t you think it’s pretty suspicious disappearing into a bedroom with two guys that aren’t your boyfriend, Y/n?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The smirk he has is sharp, like reaching out to touch it would cause thin-like paper cuts across your fingers.

Oikawa and Iwa stand up when you do, and address Matsukawa. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Yeah, Mattsun, you’re being an ass for no reason.”

Issei’s eyes remain trained on you, not once averting his gaze to either of his friends. Somehow you felt guilty for putting a wedge in the Seijoh boys’ tight friendship.

You see the moment he looks at the rumpled sheets on the nearby bed and how his lip curls up in mocking disgust. He’s angry— _jealous_. Your brain supplies. Although hearing his words and seeing the dark look in his eyes, makes you dash away your previously spewed thoughts to Tooru. Jealousy is only manageable in moderation. This was not moderate. You don’t insinuate that two of your friends and girlfriend were fucking around right in front of you.

You know his words will drip in venom if he gets the chance to say them out loud. You can see the gears in his head moving, working up the will to strike as his mouth opens. Getting out and far away from the situation was the best move you could make. It would save not only you, but _him_ from further embarrassment.

“I’m going home.” With long strides, you breeze by Issei. “I won’t stand around and have you disrespect me or our friends because of your petulance and jealousy.”

Issei catches up quickly and reaches out to grab you near the exit, all three men—Makki is staring, surprised by the chase in front of him—following close behind.

There’s the sound of a slap and Matsukawa hisses, quickly retracting his stinging hand.

“Don’t touch me.” Despite the loudness of the music distracting most of the partygoers, there are still peering eyes. “I have had it up to the fucking _sky_ with your hot and cold attitude, Matsukawa!” There’s a fire burning in your eyes and he can see it— _feel it_ singe the hairs on his skin. “The only time I see the man I fell in love with is when we’re having sex, and we hardly ever do that. This is _not_ how things should be! I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Issei has the nerve to look wounded by the words. He looks at his hands, takes the time to flip them around, and then, when he looks back at you, there are tears and a sudden realization settling in them. Like somehow, he’s just waking up from a nightmare. Like all the things he’s done, and all the things he’s said have flooded to the forefront of his mind.

Even the words of love and reassurance that he never got around to saying dangle in front of him on fishing line; shaking themselves tantalizingly so, waiting for him to snatch the bait.

You are sick; not of the body or the mind, but of the heart, and he can see that he is the one that planted the infection there.

* * *

Issei watches as you leave; solid back turned to him and he worries that this may be goodbye forever, so he reaches out again, but is stopped by two hands on his shoulders.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi pull him back and step in front of him. “We’ll get her home. It’s best if you let her cool off.”

“Can you text me?”

“Why?” Oikawa asks.

“I just want to make sure she gets there safely.”

“Sure.” Iwa turns to Tooru, tugging him by the collar. “Let’s go, Oikawa.”

Makki takes a step further and asks if he’s okay. He doesn’t know. He feels himself crumbling. He knows that he’s a sick bastard. He knows that he pushed you to your limits and made you work for even the tiniest sliver of his attention.

“I feel like I’ve been in a perpetual foul mood since the night we went out with the old team for drinks.”

“That’s because you have been, jackass.”

His eyes flicker up to Makki with furrowed brows. “Everything happened then. I let jealousy and possessiveness fucking consume me.” He stumbles forward and has to hold on to Makki and the nearby wall to steady himself. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

Hanamaki wrinkles his nose, “Not here. Let me get you outside.”

They stumble out and Matsukawa pushes away from his best friend, collapses onto his hands and knees in the nearby grass, and he vomits. It’s nothing but stomach bile and a clear-ish liquid. The feeling of his abdominal muscles contracting vigorously is excruciating, and he digs his fingers into the dirt while tears leak out of the corners of his eyes.

There’s a solo cup thrust in front of him when he gets his bearings, and it’s filled with what he hopes is water and not a clear liquor.

“I promise it’s water. Drink it, then I’ll take you home once you promise you won’t be throwing anything else up in my vicinity.”

Makki is a godsend. And maybe the only person he hasn’t pissed off enough with his stupid antics.

“You’re a great friend, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. On the ride back, you can repay me by explaining why you’ve been such an ass lately.”

The train ride is long, and it nearly rocks the two friends to sleep. There’s a couple cozying up next to one another, holding hands while sharing serene smiles and wholesome giggles. It reminds Issei of the days right before high school graduation; you’d lean your head on his shoulder and trace his fingers along with the bones in his hand.

Matsukawa rests his head on Makki, who grumbles about the newly added weight, but doesn’t make any move to push him off.

“I’ll tell you why I’ve been a jerk lately.”

“Shoot.”

Issei hated the way you were so loved and sought after by men, but had never viewed his friends in that way. They were never the kind of men he had to be worried about because he trusted them and you. The night everyone went out drinking together plays in his mind like a broken record.

_He had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Something sharp and acidic turned in his stomach when he watched his old schoolmates treat you so familiarly. It was normal, obviously; you had all been friends for years. This was nothing new. But as the two of you got older, and he fell further in love with you, there were certain things, certain acts of adoration and kindness that he wanted reserved for him alone. Kindaichi falling asleep on you, Kyōtani feeding you from his chopsticks, and even Oikawa and Iwa vying for your attention made him woozy._

_After he relieved himself and headed back to the table, two men passed by him talking loudly about the lone girl at the table filled with guys._

_“Did you see that girl over at the other table?”_

_“Yeah, man, they’re hanging all over her!”_

_“Do you think they take turns with her?”_

_“They way she’s letting all of ‘em paw at her? Definitely.”_

_Their huffs of laughter and indecent way of speaking caused his knuckles to pop as his hands balled up into fists. His entire mood devolved into something horrid as soon as he got back to the table. Jealousy and inadequacy sat on his shoulders like twin devils stabbing him with their pitchforks. They told him that your relationship with the guys was overly friendly. The devils whispered lies about how your innocent words and platonic tactile tendencies were actually sensual advances that lusted for more._

“Those feelings only grew after that. I didn’t speak about my issues to her or anyone else, so I got nasty.”

There is a rage that kindles inside of him whenever he looks at you now, but it truly has nothing to do with your own actions. Issei paid acute attention to every single male that looked or talked to you in his presence. Over analyzing words and smiles, touches and friendly gestures. To his newly infected brain, everything looked like an advance that you were allowing to happen.

He knows that he is the problem, but he’s too proud—too stubborn to admit that he is the one at fault. That maybe if he just talked to you, aired out his grievances and the things he dislikes, then none of this would have happened. The relationship could have been stronger because of it, but with how things have turned out recently, and especially tonight, he’s unsure if there _is_ a relationship anymore.

“Nasty is a fucking understatement.” Hanamaki leans his head back a bit, staring at the metal ceiling of the train. “Y/n’s a wonderful woman.”

“I know.”

“If you know, then you better apologize and grovel at her feet. Hope and pray Oikawa and Iwaizumi haven’t talked sense into her.”

He lifts his head up to look his best friend in the eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Makki scoffs. “Those two care a lot about her. They may be our close friends, but they wouldn’t hesitate to tell Y/n to dump your sorry ass if you weren’t treating her how she should be.”

Mattsun blinks a couple times. The leftover thrum in his veins from the alcohol has slowed down his brain’s processing time. “Are you saying they--,”

“I would bet you three meals that that is exactly what they were discussing in that room before you barged in.”

Although Issei had thrown up everything of substance at the party, he's thinking there is more to be purged as saliva pools in his mouth and his stomach lurches. He has made you feel just as insecure as him. Even though you have never given him a solid reason to question your love, he has spent the better part of the last two months kicking dirt in once clear waters.

His phone buzzes in his pocket—it’s Oikawa telling him you’ve gotten home with no problems. It’s a small blessing, one that he holds on to knowing that you went back to your shared home and didn’t insist on staying over elsewhere. Now, despite the incoming early hours of the morning, he can only hope you will hear him out.

* * *

“Tooru, can you get my other bag from the closet, please?”

Iwaizumi went home as soon as he and Oikawa got you home. You promised to keep him informed and to reach out in case anything went awry when or if Matsukawa came home.

Tooru hands you the requested bag and helps you pack your clothes. “I know we talked about you leaving earlier, but are you sure that you’re ready for this?”

His question causes a pause in your organizing. You stare at the hurriedly packed jewelry box that is littered with bracelets, necklaces, and rings he has bought for you. Then your eyes move up to the bedside table and the picture of the two of you from your 5th year anniversary.

“I’m not sure, no. I still love him. I want this to work, I want him to see what he’s done to me, to us, but I think he needs to see what it’s like to be without me for a while.”

Oikawa looks at you and sees the resigned look of hurt in your expression. “And… if he likes what he sees?”

The silence that follows the question is loud enough to rattle the heart in your chest.

“Then I guess that’ll be it.” You laugh, but it lacks joy as you zip up the last bag for your temporary escape. “There would be no point continuing a relationship he no longer wants to be in.”

“Who said I didn’t want to be in this relationship?”

Issei is there in the doorway of your shared bedroom the same way he had been at the party, except this time he looks terrified. His eyes are wide, eyebrows as high as they can go, and his mouth is agape.

Tooru looks at him and then at you. “I’ll take your bags and leave the two of you to talk.”

When he tries to walk past Issei, he’s stopped. “Don’t take her things with you, Oikawa.”

“I don’t think that’s your choice, Mattsun. I’m sorry.” Once again, your best friend turns to look at you. “I’ll be outside.”

The front door shuts, and it leaves the two of you in the empty silence, not looking away from one another but also not speaking. You want him to speak. You want him to beg you to stay; to do anything within his power to at least try to keep you in his life—in this home.

But all he does is stare with his mouth opening and closing like a fish without water.

“Say something,” you demand. _Beg_. “Anything.”

Issei looks around the room and notices the key elements missing. Everything that is yours isn’t in sight and by looking at his face you can see something like fear settling in, but he needs to voice it for you to stay. At this point in the shit show, you need to _hear_ that he cares. You need to _feel_ it.

“I don’t-I don’t know what to say.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes and your throat burns with the force of trying not to cry.

“Of course you don’t, Issei.” You grab the pillow on the bed, it’s yours after all, and leave the bedroom. “You haven’t known what to say in so long.”

When you get outside, Tooru is there waiting for you with a taxi driver on standby. He packed your bags up in the trunk, and all that’s left is for you to get in.

“Come on, hun. Let’s get you to a nice warm bed, yeah?”

He’s got his hand outstretched; a secure lifeline for you to grab onto. With one last glance at your home, the last sliver of hope that Issei will run out to stop you from leaving disintegrates once you take Tooru’s hand.

In the taxi, you bury your face down into the pillow that has a mixed scent of your shampoo and Issei’s body wash. Your mind plays through the memories of you snuggled up in bed together mumbling to one another about weekend plans and what’s on sale at the supermarket. Morning or nighttime showers when he would sneak in with you and lather the shampoo in your hair, building up the suds until your hair was nothing but a white wig of bubbles.

The gentle (and not so gentle) kisses to freshly cleaned skin. The laughter in the mornings when his curls would be stood up in all directions. The longing touches when neither one of you wanted to part before work.

In the last two months, all of it faded away into nothing.

With your head buried in the pillow and Tooru’s hand rubbing soothing circles onto your back, you missed the distant form of Issei running out of the house, screaming your name.


End file.
